


Four Dudes Who Help Taylor Hall Get Over Jordan Eberle

by 7iris



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Edmonton Oilers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1594586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7iris/pseuds/7iris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not like he didn’t know it was coming. But maybe he lets himself forget about it, because when Ebs tells him at the beginning of the season that he and Lauren are moving in together next year, it feels like a sucker punch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Dudes Who Help Taylor Hall Get Over Jordan Eberle

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from tumblr. (That's why there's only four things.)
> 
> Thanks, anon, for encouraging me to expound on my feelings about [this picture](http://7iris.tumblr.com/post/84276143567).

**1\. BizNasty (Ew, not like that, Taylor has standards)**  
  
It’s just — okay, there is actual footage of Taylor out there saying Ebs will move out when he gets married. Taylor was thinking about Lauren when it he said it, too. It’s not like he didn’t know it was coming. But maybe he lets himself forget about it, because when Ebs tells him at the beginning of the season that he and Lauren are moving in together next year, it feels like a sucker punch.  
  
"Oh," Taylor says blankly. "Oh, um—"  Jordan is watching him with a hesitant expression, and Taylor makes himself snap out of it, makes himself grin and hug him. "Congratulations, man! That’s awesome!"  
  
Jordan grins back, bright and happy.  
  
Only an asshole would be unhappy that his best friend is moving in with the woman he loves, and Taylor is not going to be that asshole.  
  
So he doesn’t let himself think about it. He concentrates on hockey instead, and the way their season is going, that’s more than enough distraction.  
  
He has a bad moment at Christmas, when he realizes this is the last time they’ll get a tree together, and it makes his stomach knot up tight and miserable.  
  
"The new place is going to have really high ceilings," Jordan says. "So next year we can have, like, a huge tree."  
  
"Cool," Taylor says, focusing on placing the tinsel exactly right.  
  
"We’re still going to do this next year," Jordan says, bumping their shoulders together. "You know that, right?"  
  
"Obviously," Taylor scoffs. It won’t be the same, but it’s something.   
  
It’s fine. He’s fine.  
  
And then they go to Cabo over the Olympic break. Taylor’s mostly over not getting picked for Team Canada. He’s young, there’s a lot of great players, he’ll have another shot.   
  
He’s not over Ebs shirtless and laughing in the sun, hanging out like old times, just the two of them. There’s no hockey to distract him, nothing to think about except how much he misses Jordan already.   
  
Jordan jumps on him from behind, trying to drag him into the pool. His skin is hot and smooth against Taylor’s, and Taylor’s breath catches in his throat. He twists out of Jordan’s grip, shoves him into Nuge, and the two of them go in with a splash.  
  
"Party foul!" Biz shouts from the water, holding his beer up over his head.   
  
Ryan and Jordan stop splashing around. “You coming in?” Jordan asks, looking up at Taylor.  
  
"Nah, I’m good," Taylor says, his heart beating a little too fast. He sits down on one of the lounge chairs, leans back in the shade, and tries not to think about what wrestling with Jordan in the pool would feel like.  
  
"Your loss," Jordan says, grinning, and Taylor closes his eyes.  
  
He startles awake when something cold and wet touches his shoulder. Biz is holding a can of beer out for him. Taylor takes it automatically.  
  
"What’s up with you?" Biz asks. "You look like someone pissed on your puppy."  
  
Taylor forces a smile. “Nothing.”  
  
Biz gives him a deeply skeptical look. “This—” he circles his hand in Taylor’s direction, “—is not the face someone who is having an awesome time in Cabo with his best bros.”  
  
"I’m fine," Taylor says.  
  
"Well, whatever it is, that’s why they invented tequila." Biz flags down a waitress and orders them a round of shots.   
  
Taylor makes a face, but then he figures, fuck it, why not?  
  
The answer is because he will end up drunk off his ass and alone at the bar with Biz. He doesn’t know what time it is, or where everyone else went, and the tequila is not helping at all. He just feels — sad.   
  
Biz takes another sip of his beer and says, “So what’s wrong?”  
  
And this time Taylor tells him. “Ebs is leaving.”  
  
Biz’s eyebrows go up. “Whoa, the wonder twins are breaking up?”  
  
"No," Taylor says, scowling. "We’re not breaking up. He’s moving — he’s moving in with his girlfriend next season."  
  
"How long have you guys been living together?"  
  
Taylor fiddles with the empty shot glass in front of him, not looking up.  “Since we were rookies. So like — four years?”   
  
"Wow, that sucks," Biz says.  
  
"No, it’s, it’s great for him, I’m happy for them." He sounds fake and awkward even to himself.  
  
Biz shrugs. “It’s okay to be sad about it, too,” he says. “It’s like, I dunno, the end of an era or something. You can be sad about it ending, even if whatever happens next is good.”  
  
Taylor’s chest hurts and his eyes sting. He nods, keeps his head down.   
  
"You just gotta let it happen, feel whatever you’re feeling. And then go out and bang a lot of chicks."  
  
Taylor lets out a startled bark of laughter.  
  
"Or dudes," Biz says, and Taylor’s laughter cuts off. "Whatever."  
  
Taylor looks away. The bartender is giving them the stink-eye, and the place is empty. “We should—” he says vaguely. He’s not sure he has his wallet. Or his key card. Or any idea where they are.   
  
Biz waves his hand. “I texted your boy to come get you.”  
  
Taylor’s head snaps around. “No, why would you?” If Jordan shows up—  
  
"Relax," Biz says, and jerks his chin towards the door.  
  
Taylor turns around in his seat and sees Gags coming towards them. “Oh.” He’s relieved, mostly.  
  
Sam surveys the shot glasses and beer cans littering the table and snorts. “Okay, wow. You ready to go, Hallsy?”  
  
"Yeah." He is definitely ready to go.   
  
Sam hauls him to his feet and wraps an arm around his waist when Taylor sways.   
  
"Thanks, Biz," Sam says, and Taylor gives him a little wave.  
  
"Remember," Biz says, shooting him finger-guns around his beer, "a lot of chicks."  
  
Sam gets them back to their suite and leaves Taylor propped up against the kitchenette counter while he grabs a bottle of water from the mini-fridge.   
  
"Here," he says, and Taylor drinks it obediently. The room does a slow swoop when he closes his eyes, and then Sam has an arm around his waist again.  
  
Taylor presses his face into Sam’s throat. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”  
  
"What’s wrong with your room?"  
  
"Ebs is in there."  
  
"Dude," Sam says gently, stroking his hand down Taylor’s back. "What’s going on with you?"  
  
Taylor exhales. “I miss Ebs. Or, I mean, I’m gonna miss him. Next year.”  
  
"Oh, Hallsy," Sam says, and Taylor bites his lip. "Yeah, okay, c’mon."  
  
Sam steers him into his and Ryan’s room. Nuge is sprawled out in his bed, already snoring. Taylor basically collapses into the other bed. Sam tugs the sheet out from under him and tosses it over him, then slides in next to him.  
  
"Thanks," Taylor mumbles.  
  
"Anytime, dude."  
  
*  
  
At the end of the season, Jordan gives Taylor a key to his new house. It’s the one that has the Oilers logo on it, and Taylor laughs.  
  
"You know," Jordan says, scuffing his foot on the carpet of their empty apartment. "Because you’re always welcome."  
  
Taylor’s eyes burn and he doesn’t try to hide it. “Thanks, man. I — it’s gonna suck living without you next year, but congratulations.”  
  
Jordan’s eyes look a little wet, too, and he pulls Taylor into a long hug. “Yeah, I, me, too,” he says into Taylor’s shoulder.  
  
It’s fine. He’s gonna be fine.  
  
  
 **2\. Nuge (No, not like that either.)**  
  
Ryan texts Taylor over the summer. _you + me = roommates??? :D_  
  
 _no_ , Taylor texts back. _im a resposible adult, i can live by mself_  
  
 _hahahaha_ , Ryan sends. _HAHAHAHAHA_.  
  
Which: rude.  
  
Taylor sticks to his guns on living alone, but he does let Nuge talk him into getting apartments in the same building.   
  
(The first time Taylor locks himself out, after midnight on a game night, he crashes on Sam’s couch, because he won’t give Ryan the satisfaction of saying _I told you so_. Still, he makes sure Ryan and Sam have spare keys after that.)  
  
He doesn’t regret the decision, because even if Ryan was there, it wouldn’t be the same as living with Ebs. But it’s hard to get used to the quiet at night, to being alone. He wakes up at weird noises like the ice maker rattling in the freezer or the heat kicking in, things that he would have assumed was Ebs moving around, but now he can’t help thinking might be a burglar, or a serial killer. (It seems reasonable at 2am, okay?)  
  
Jordan and Lauren do a combination housewarming and Thanksgiving for all the guys who aren’t going home. Taylor brings KD, which is a totally legitimate side dish, _Ryan_ , fuck your Brussels sprouts with the bacon cider vinaigrette.  
  
The house is beautiful, and everyone has a good time, and Jordan and Lauren are clearly really proud and happy and living a life of domestic bliss. Taylor is fine, right up until the end, when he has to leave.   
  
He drove with Ryan, who falls into what is probably a carb-induced coma on the way back to their place. Taylor pokes him in the ribs, and Ryan wakes up with a snort.  
  
"Call of Duty?" Ryan mumbles around a yawn.   
  
"Nah, I’m gonna take a nap," Taylor says.  
  
But when he’s finally in bed, he can’t sleep. His chest feels tight and achey, and the apartment is too quiet, and Jordan is off making a life for himself that doesn’t have Taylor built into every little corner.  
  
 _bored_ , Ryan texts. _coming over!_  
  
Taylor knows why he’s doing it. _I don’t need you to cheer me up_ , he wants to say, but — he kind of does.   
  
Ryan’s got half of a pie that Taylor didn’t notice him stealing from the party and both Captain America movies.   
  
"Isn’t it, like, treason to watch Captain America on Thanksgiving?" Taylor says. He leans over to dig his spoon into the pie in Ryan’s lap.  
  
"We can watch Wolverine afterwards," Ryan says. "He’s Canadian, right?"  
  
"Cool," Taylor says. He takes a deep breath. "Thanks."  
  
"Sure," Ryan says. He bumps their shoulders together and settles the blanket over them more securely.

*

It’s not just Ryan. Taylor’s pretty sure there’s some kind of conspiracy going on.  
  
Sam brings NHL 15 and a six pack of beer over, and they play video games until they’re too tired to keep their eyes open. Taylor wins again, and Sam groans and flops over into Taylor’s lap.  
  
Taylor pets his hair. “You want the guest room?”  
  
Sam makes an unintelligible noise that sounds like agreement. Taylor finds him an extra pair of sweats and a spare toothbrush.  He falls asleep to the sound of Sam brushing his teeth and pouring a glass of water.  
  
When Taylor stumbles out to the kitchen in the morning, Sam’s already got the coffee started. Taylor smiles at him, and Sam smiles sleepily back, hair sticking up all over the place, and Taylor has a pretty good morning.  
  
Nail comes over with a shopping bag full of tupperware. “My mom make,” he says, pushing it into Taylor’s hands. “Oooh, Die Hard?”  
  
"Yeah," Taylor says, glancing over at where the movie is paused. "You wanna…?"  
  
"Yeah," Nail says.  
  
Taylor restarts it and they watch the movie while eating dumplings and some kind of potato thing that’s amazing.  
  
Ryan finds the leftovers when he’s digging through Taylor’s fridge, and Taylor practically has to rip the container out of his hands to get his fair share.   
  
He’s not going to complain, though, about the constant stream of guys inviting themselves over, because it fills up the space, makes him appreciate the quiet more when he goes to bed. And it’s a distraction from how much he misses Jordan.  
  
It’s not like Taylor doesn’t see Jordan anymore. He sees him at practice, they eat lunch together all the time, Jordan comes over to play video games, and Taylor goes over to their place for dinner. But the thing is, Taylor has to make plans to see him now. He’s not eating Cheerios on the couch when Taylor wakes up, they don’t argue over whether to watch game highlights or the Daily Show before bed. It leaves these sore little empty spots in Taylor’s life.  
  
Still, when Ryan shows up with a container of Chunky Monkey and a copy of 22 Jump Street, Taylor makes himself say something. “We didn’t break up, y’know.”  
  
"What?"  
  
"Me and Ebs." Taylor waggles the mostly empty ice cream container at Ryan. "C’mon, Nuge, ice cream, movies, we’re just missing the bottle of wine. Or, like, a pitcher of Cosmos. Ebs didn’t dump me."  
  
Ryan hesitates, giving him a long look, and Taylor feels himself flush. It feels like a break-up, and sometimes, on bad days, Taylor thinks this would be easier if it really was one.   
  
It’s probably not true, because you can’t miss what you never had. Taylor has spent whole seasons carefully not thinking about what it would be like to date Ebs, but even so, he’s pretty sure it would hurt a lot more to lose that than to lose — whatever it is he feels like he’s lost.  
  
Maybe he’s been more obvious about it than he thought.  
  
But all Ryan says is, “I know. I think the point is that those things make people feel better regardless of why they’re bummed out.”  
  
He swallows that down and says, gruff and too quiet, “Thanks.”  
  
  
 **3\. Chris and Aaron (or maybe it was Andy?) and Kyle and that guy with the tattoo, and yes, fine, he took Biz’s advice**  
  
The one good thing about living by himself is that he can bring his hook-ups home.  
  
He brought girls home sometimes when they were rookies, but it felt weird when Ebs and Lauren got more serious. The most he’d done with guys was secretive handjobs in club bathrooms a couple of times when they were on the road, when he was trying to figure out if that curl of heat in his gut when he saw Jordan in his boxers was a guy thing or a Jordan thing. So fuck it, he’s going to take advantage of that.  
  
Edmonton doesn’t exactly have a huge gay scene. The first time he goes to Wonderlounge he feels awkward and obvious and too nervous to talk to anyone. He leaves after fifteen minutes.   
  
The second time, he talks to a couple of guys. It’s just as awkward and gut-wrenching as last time, but hey, he can’t really flirt with girls either, so it’s some kind of progress.  
  
The third time is shaping up to be just as bad as the first two, but then he turns around too fast at the bar and stumbles into someone else, spilling the guy’s drink over both of them.  
  
"Oh, shit, sorry!" Taylor says, and the guy laughs.  
  
He’s got dyed black hair and a lip ring, and his whole neck is covered with a tattoo. Taylor’s been mostly flirting with dark haired, kind of preppy guys, which even he knows is not the best idea. Now he’s thinking maybe he needs to branch out a little.  
  
"Um, can I buy you a replacement?" he asks.  
  
The guy looks him up and down. “How about a dance instead?”  
  
The dance floor is packed, and it turns out to be more grinding than dancing, which Taylor is totally down with. The guy goes up on his toes to kiss Taylor, and it sends of rush of heat over him that’s only a tiny part self-consciousness.  
  
"You wanna get out of here?" the guy asks, rolling his hips against Taylor’s.  
  
Taylor shivers. It’s dumb, risky, but — “Yeah.”   
  
It seems dumber in the morning.  
  
Not just because Jordan sees the hickey on his collarbone in the locker room. “Dude!” he says and grabs Taylor’s shoulder for a closer look.  
  
Taylor squirms away from his grip, his face turning red. Nail whoops and holds his hand up for a high five.   
  
"Are you hooking up without tell us?" Jordan asks. He looks at Ryan. "Has he been bringing randos home?"    
  
Ryan rolls his eyes.   
  
Taylor says, “You’re all assholes,” and stomps off to the showers.   
  
But when they let it go, when nothing shows up on Deadspin or the gossip sites, he relaxes a little. Enough that it seems like a good idea to go back. Just every now and then, when he gets that restless itch under his skin that video games and beers with guys don’t touch.    
  
He never gets completely comfortable with it, that little anxious thread of _what if someone recognizes me?_ always present in the back of his head. But he can drown it out.  
  
Aaron is getting hit on by the same sleazy guy that Taylor just blew off, and he bursts out laughing when Taylor catches his gaze and makes a face. Kyle is really understanding about Taylor choking on his dick, and is happy to let him practice the whole blowjob thing.  
  
It’s different than rushed hook-ups in bars. There’s way more making out, he can take his time, and getting his dick sucked in his own bed is definitely more comfortable than any club bathroom he’s been in.   
  
He sleeps like the dead, too, afterwards, and the quiet of the apartment doesn’t bother him.  
  
Still, when Kyle says, “You want my number?” the next morning, Taylor freezes.  
  
"Um."   
  
"Smooth," Kyle says, but he’s laughing.   
  
"Sorry," Taylor says. "I’m not really looking—"  
  
"I get it," Kyle says.  
  
 _lunch at the usual?_ Ebs texts while he’s brushing his teeth.  
  
 _for sure_ , Taylor sends.  
  
*  
  
They win the first game of the new year against the Leafs at home. Taylor gets three points and first star of the game, and everyone is in a good mood afterwards, laughing and amped up.  
  
They blast Kesha in the locker room once the media leaves. Jordan drops down next to him while Taylor’s stripping out of his pads, throwing his arm around Taylor’s shoulder.  
  
"Beauty moves, Hallsy!" Jordan yells over the music.  
  
Taylor grins.  
  
"You’re coming out with us, right?" Jordan asks.  
  
Taylor thinks about it for a second. But he doesn’t want to hang out with the couples and the single guys trying to pick up, doesn’t want to smile through beers and shots and go home alone. The blood’s pounding under his skin, and he just wants to get _laid_.  
  
"Nah, man, I’m wiped, I’m gonna bail early."  
  
There’s a chorus of boos, but Taylor smiles them off and leaves by himself. He changes when he gets home, tight jeans, soft, clingy sweater, no jacket.  
  
Gags and Nuge text him.

_come ouuuuuuuut!!!_

_we miss you_  
  
He doesn’t reply.   
  
He has the cab drop him off down the block from the club. It’s loud, packed on a Saturday night. Taylor works his way through the crush towards the bar. He won’t be getting served in a hurry, but he’s got time. He scans the crowd, checking out the possibilities. A guy at the end meets his eyes. He’s older, with dark hair and a goatee, kind of a Tony Stark vibe that’s working for Taylor.   
  
It’s easier now to smile, drop his eyes and lick his lips. The guy smirks back and starts moving towards him. By the time Taylor gets to the bar, the guy is next to him.  
  
"Buy you a drink?" he asks, leaning close to Taylor. He’s Taylor’s height, leaner, and he looks like he knows what he’s doing, what he wants.  
  
"Vodka soda," Taylor says to the bartender.   
  
The guy gives his order and a fifty to the bartender. “I’m Chris,” he says.  
  
"Taylor."  
  
The bartender slaps their drinks down and Taylor knocks back half of his in one swallow. Chris grins. “You want to dance?”  
  
Taylor doesn’t. “I want to get out of here,” he says.  
  
Chris’s eyebrows go up. “Well, I won’t say no to that.”  
  
Taylor finishes his drink and heads for the exit. Chris catches his wrist just shy of the doors, pulls him around.  
  
"What?" Taylor says, and Chris kisses him, open-mouthed and filthy.   
  
Taylor gasps into it, grabs Chris’s shoulder. Chris pulls back. “Just checking,” he says.  
  
"You think I’m not gonna be worth it?" Taylor asks.   
  
"Not anymore," Chris says.  
  
Taylor gives the cabbie his address. Chris doesn’t try anything, but he leaves his hand on Taylor’s thigh, hot and heavy through Taylor’s jeans. Taylor’s phone buzzes again, but he ignores it.  
  
Taylor’s half-hard by the time they get to his apartment, anticipation coiling in his gut. Chris pushes him up against the wall as soon as they’re through the door, slams their mouths together. Taylor moans, grabs Chris’s hips to pull him closer.  
  
"Whoa!" someone else says, and Taylor jerks his head back, shoves Chris away from him.  
  
It’s Sam. He’s red-faced but laughing a little. “Sorry, dude, sorry! I texted you, but I guess you were busy, which, get it, son—”  
  
Taylor is frozen, his mind completely blank with embarrassment and sudden, choking panic.  
  
"—so I’m just going to go home now." Sam’s grin fades as he looks at Taylor. "Hey, hey, it’s fine, we’re cool, okay?"  
  
Taylor can’t say anything. Sam exchanges a quick, wary glance with Chris.  
  
"You should stay," Chris says. "I don’t think we’re getting the mood back. Sorry, Tyler."  
  
Taylor doesn’t argue.  
  
When the door shuts behind Chris, Sam reaches out, slow and careful, and puts his hand on Taylor’s shoulder. He squeezes gently, pulls him into a hug.  
  
"It’s okay," Sam says. "I don’t — it would be really hypocritical of me to freak out about this."  
  
"What?" Taylor manages.  
  
Sam steps back so Taylor can see his face. “I’m gay,” he says, calmly, like it’s nothing. “I don’t care if you want to hook up with guys, and I’m not going to tell anyone.”  
  
"Oh," Taylor says. The sick rush of panic has faded, but his mind is still blank. He doesn’t know how to deal with this.   
  
"Come on," Sam says. He tugs him towards the living room and nudges him down onto the couch. There’s a six pack of beer on the coffee table.  
  
"Sorry," Sam says again. "I texted you, but I shouldn’t have let myself in."  
  
Taylor digs his phone out.  
  
There’s the one from Ryan, and one from Nail, _:((((((((((_  
  
And then the string from Sam,   
  
_come ouuuuuuuut!!!_  
  
 _ebs is bailing soon anyway_  
  
 _fine, i’m coming over._  
  
 _be there in15 w/ beer_  
  
 _where are you asshole? are you having fun wo us?_  
  
Sam opens another bottle and hands it to Taylor. “Wow, that first one is really inappropriate now.”  
  
Taylor laughs. It’s a little hysterical, but it’s real.    
  
Sam puts his feet up on the coffee table. His shoulder brushes against Taylor’s and Taylor lets himself lean into Sam’s warmth, suddenly exhausted. Sam shifts, puts his arm around Taylor.   
  
"Sorry if we’re hovering too much," Sam says. "We just, I was just worried that you were skipping out on us to be sad alone."  
  
" ‘S okay," Taylor says.  
  
They’re quiet for a long moment.  
  
"Can you stay over?" Taylor asks. He hates the thought of being alone in his apartment.  
  
"Yeah," Sam says. "No problem."

*

When he wakes up in the morning, he can hear voices in the kitchen.  
  
"—he was just pining alone in the dark like usual," Sam is saying to Ryan. "We drank beer and played video games and I crashed here."  
  
"I wasn’t pining in the dark," Taylor says, yawning, as he sits down at the kitchen counter.  
  
"Close enough," Sam says. He grins at Taylor, a quick flash like an inside joke, and the last of the anxious tightness in Taylor’s chest dissolves.  
  
  
 **4\. Sam Gagner (yeah, it’s like that)**  
  
"Put some tighter jeans on, we’re going out," Sam says, pushing past him into his apartment.  
  
"…What?" Taylor says.  
  
"It’s easier if you go to the gay clubs with someone else," Sam says.  
  
"I do fine!" Taylor says.  
  
"Hey, maybe I need the wingman," Sam says.   
  
Taylor looks at him, at his grin and his stubble and the tight grey v-neck under his leather jacket, and thinks—   
  
"But that’s not what I meant," Sam says. "Come on."  
  
Taylor gets what he means by the end of the night. It’s like going to any other bar with a friend. He feels so much less awkward and out of place with Sam there. Neither of them hook up, but it’s fun.   
  
"Plus, if the pictures end up on Twitter, it’s not you at a gay bar by yourself, it’s a couple of dumb hockey players slumming it," Sam says, while they’re standing on the corner, waiting for a cab. There’s a wry, cynical twist to his mouth. "It’s all about plausible deniability."  
  
Taylor’s a little tipsy, and he leans on Sam. Sam slides an arm around his waist and leans back. Sam is nice and stable and nice like that.  
  
"Does anyone else know?" Taylor asks.  
  
"My family, Tavares. Cogs was the only one on the team who did." Sam glances at him. "What about you?"  
  
Taylor shakes his head.  
  
"Not even Ebs?"  
  
Taylor flinches. “No,” he says.  
  
"Okay," Sam says, and tightens his grip on Taylor’s waist. "Okay."  
  
Sam doesn’t drag him out often. The season’s starting to tighten up and they still have a shot at the wild card slot. Not a really good shot, obviously, but they’re not fighting it out for bottom of the league, at least.  
  
Taylor hesitates the first time he wants to leave with a guy when Sam’s there, but Sam gives him a huge cheesy grin and a thumbs up. Taylor flips him off discreetly and doesn’t look back.  
  
The first time Sam hooks up with someone, Taylor feels — weird.  
  
Sam goes off to dance with a preppy blond guy, and Taylor’s kind of flirting with another guy at the bar. When looks back at the dance floor, Sam’s making out with a tall black dude.   
  
Taylor’s stomach does slow flip and his face heats for no reason. He knows Sam’s gay, he’s seen him flirt and dance with other guys, but he’s never seen him like this, kissing slow and dirty and intense.  
  
"You wanna dance?" the guy next to him asks.  
  
Taylor tears his eyes away from Sam. “Uh, no. Thanks.” He gives the guy a fake smile and walks away from the bar. When he looks back at the dance floor, he can’t see Sam anymore.  
  
He suddenly doesn’t feel like staying out.  
  
 _get it son_ , he texts Sam. _im bailing_  
  
He’s in the cab when Sam texts back. _cool see u 2mrw_  
  
Sam’s the one who gets shit for the really obvious hickey on his neck the next day at practice. He catches Taylor’s eye and smirks, like he wants to share the joke, and Taylor smiles back automatically, even though he has to spend a lot of energy not thinking about how exactly Sam got that hickey.  
  
*  
  
They don’t make the playoffs.  They lose and Nashville wins, and there’s still five games left in the regular season, but they’re done.  
  
Taylor is just so fucking sick of it. He says the usual bullshit in the post-game interviews, but the taste of the loss is sour in the back of his throat.  
  
Sam’s sitting in his stall, halfway out of his pads. Taylor bumps his knee. “Hey, I want to go out tonight.”  
  
Sam scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, I think the guys are going to—”  
  
"No," Taylor says. "I want to go _out_.”  
  
"Oh," Sam says. He tips his head back, studies Taylor’s face. "Okay. One beer with the guys, though."  
  
It turns into two rounds of shots and a beer with the guys, but it doesn’t help the frustration crawling under his skin.   
  
Taylor slides out from under Jordan’s arm when Jordan’s distracted by Lauren. He catches Sam on the way back from the bar.   
  
"You said—"  
  
"Yeah," Sam says. He glances at the booth where the guys are packed in. "Okay, come on."  
  
It’s a weeknight, so Wonderlounge isn’t packed. Taylor heads straight for the bar. Sam does one shot with him, but shakes his head at the next round.  
  
Taylor scans the crowd. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He dances with a bunch of guys, lets a couple of them buy him drinks, but it’s not quite what he wants. He doesn’t want to go home with a stranger, he realizes.  
  
Sam’s standing along the wall, talking to another guy. Taylor throws his arms around Sam’s waist and leans into his back, presses his forehead against the back of Sam’s neck.   
  
"I want to go home," he says.   
  
Sam huffs. The guy he was talking to raises his eyebrows. He catches Taylor’s eye and a speculative expression slides over his face. Taylor doesn’t look away. Something hot and shivery curls through his belly.  
  
"All right, we’re going," Sam says, and it’s gone.  
  
Taylor slumps over sideways in the cab, resting his head on Sam’s shoulder. Sam nudges him upright when they get to Taylor’s building. Taylor blinks at him, gives him the saddest puppy dog eyes he can. Sam snorts, but he pays the driver and follows Taylor up to his apartment.  
  
"Gatorade," Sam says firmly, digging a couple of bottles out of the fridge.  
  
Taylor drinks it and watches Sam in the soft, warm light of his kitchen, rumpled and tired and smiling a little around the eyes. He feels that same tug of restless, unidentifiable longing, and he wants, he wants—  
  
"Go to bed," Sam says.  
  
"Yeah," Taylor sighs. "Okay."  
  
The finish out the season with a couple of wins and a little bit of dignity.   
  
Taylor sticks around Edmonton for a while. There’s a big party for Jordan’s birthday, at his and Lauren’s place. And, hey, since they missed the playoffs, everyone can get completely wasted.  
  
By the end of the party, Taylor feels warm and mellow. He’s sitting on one of the lounge chairs on the back patio, watching Sam dance with Lauren. Jordan comes over with another beer and wriggles onto the chair next to Taylor, half on top of him. It feels like old times, comfortable and familiar.  
  
"Next year," Taylor says, "next year, you will get one beer for your birthday and go to bed early, because we will be in the playoffs."  
  
Jordan laughs and clinks his bottle against Taylor’s. “Next year,” he says.  
  
Sam comes over and pokes Jordan. “Go dance with your girlfriend, she’s wearing me out.”  
  
Jordan heaves a huge sigh, but gets up. Sam sits on the edge of the chair.  
  
Taylor hooks his arm around Sam’s waist and pulls Sam back against his chest. Sam yelps, but lets Taylor manhandle him.  
  
"You don’t have to save me from Jordan," Taylor says quietly.  
  
"I know—" Sam starts.  
  
"No, I mean, you don’t need to anymore," Taylor says.  
  
Sam cranes his head around and meets Taylor’s eyes. They’ve never talked about this, and Taylor doesn’t know how much Sam’s figured out. Sam gives him a long look, then nods. He settles back against Taylor’s chest.  
  
"Okay," he says. "Good."  
  
They watch Sam and Lauren slow dance under the fairy lights. Ryan and his girlfriend are curled up asleep on the other lounge chair. The party’s died down and everything’s quiet.  
  
Taylor shifts his free hand a little so he can thread his fingers through Sam’s. Sam lets him, squeezing back. He ducks his head, presses his mouth against the corner of Sam’s jaw.   
  
He can feel the catch in Sam’s breath, how suddenly still he is.  
  
"Next year," Taylor says, low and quiet, like a promise. "Next year’s gonna be our year."


End file.
